


Turnabout

by Decepticonsensual



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 17:25:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/pseuds/Decepticonsensual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jazz is used to being the one who takes all the risks.  How is he going to cope when Prowl winds up getting hurt?  One-shot, based on a prompt from TFPAddict.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turnabout

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TFPaddict](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TFPaddict/gifts).



Jazz slipped quietly into the med bay, trying not to look like his spark was twisting and pounding as if it were caught in a vise.

Prowl was lying on one of the berths.  His stillness was unnerving, even for a mech who was no stranger to stillness – something he and Jazz had in common.  Over nine million years of warfare, the two of them had found themselves in countless places like this, from discreet hospitals that didn’t question obvious blaster injuries during the early days of the war, to field clinics, to the Iacon Hall of Records when it had been packed with energon-soaked stretchers after a particularly brutal street battle.  But nine times out of ten, it had been Jazz on the berth, grinning up as he clutched at a gaping wound to try and stem the flow of fuel, and Prowl leaning over him, tutting and lecturing even as he bent to help a medic tie off Jazz’s bandages.  Jazz was the spec ops agent, the one who went on long missions and ran inconceivable risks; Prowl was the tactician, manipulating events from afar.  This reversal felt _wrong_.

“How’s he doin’, Ratch?”

Ratchet jumped, and scowled at Jazz for a moment, but softened when he saw the expression on his face.

“We got the fuel leak under control in time.  He’s still out cold, but he’ll mend.  The doorwing’ll need a while to heal up, but the arm looks worse than it is.  He should be awake soon, if you want to stay.”  When Jazz looked at him in surprise, he backpedaled, huffing, “Just keep it the Pit down, all right?  I’ve got a dozen other patients who need their rest, so none of your damned antics.”

“Sure, Doc,” Jazz murmured, smiling for the first time since the battle as Ratchet stalked off, muttering.   The spec ops agent slid onto the end of the medical berth, whispering , “Well, you’ve got to be gettin’ better, Prowler.  We all know Ratch doesn’t start yellin’ until he’s sure the patient’s gonna make it.”

“I heard that!” the medic snapped from across the room.  Jazz laughed softly, tipping forward until his forehead was resting against Prowl’s.

For a moment, it was sweet just to rest there, feeling the slight dig of Prowl’s chevron against his helm, and the faint warmth of the other mech’s vents on his skin.  Prowl’s ventilations were slow and shallow, but they were still _going_ , and for that, Jazz was more grateful than he could say.

“You know the rules,” he murmured, his lips tracing Prowl’s jaw between words.  “No leavin’ without me.  I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

He turned his head to brush his mouth gently against Prowl’s, and ended up lingering in the kiss.  With his optics offline, Jazz tried to forget the sight of the other mech’s viciously mangled doorwing and the sickeningly rich, oily smell of the medbay.  There was nothing but the sound of Prowl’s venting, the pulse of his spark, the wonderful, living heat of his mouth –

And then that mouth opened against his, and Jazz gasped as a wet glossa slid between his lips, running teasingly over his own.  There was one hot, dizzying moment where Jazz felt like his entire body was melting, before his mind caught up and he jerked away in shock.  _“Prowl!”_

A pair of all-too-innocent blue optics blinked up at him.

“You know,” Prowl intoned calmly, as if he hadn’t just had his obscenely talented glossa in Jazz’s mouth, “there’s a term for taking advantage of a superior officer while he’s incapacitated.”

“Oh, yeah?”  Jazz crossed his arms.  “And what’s the term for the superior officer takin’ advantage right back?”

Even Prowl couldn’t quite manage to suppress the smirk.  “I believe it’s ‘revenge’, soldier.”


End file.
